


Let It Bleed

by Ruuger



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Dark!Jane, Episode: s01e18 Russet Potatoes, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Season/Series 01, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruuger/pseuds/Ruuger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: in Russet Potatoes (park scene), Jane manages not to break the hypnosis but to find out why and who 'hurt' Rigsby when he was younger (and then does something about it).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for content warnings.

_Grace is crying._

_Jane knows that he should do something, knows that he should put a stop to this, but it's almost like he's been hypnotised himself, forced to listen to the painful words that spill from Rigsby's lips._

_"Jane."_

_It's her voice that finally stirs him from his trance._

_"Jane, can you help him? Please?"_

_He feels faint, but he gives her a reassuring smile and then kneels in front of Rigsby. His voice breaks when he tries to speak, and he has to clear his throat before continuing._

_"Wayne, I want to you to focus on the sound of my voice. Close your eyes, and imagine that you're on a beach. It's a beautiful sunny day. You're walking down the beach, and you're perfectly safe..._

* * *

The bell rang, marking the end of the school day. Michael had barely enough time to remind the children of their homework before they grabbed their backpacks and ran out of the room, leaving him behind to wash off the math equations from the whiteboard. Nevertheless, when he was finished, he turned around to find one desk still occupied. 

Michael put down the eraser and walked to the desk, kneeling in front of the boy still sitting in it. 

"What's the matter, Keenan? Have the others been giving you hard time again?"

The boy shrugged, his pen drawing angry black circles on the paper in front of him.

"You know their opinions don't matter. You're a very special boy, Keenan. Very special." He took Keenan's hand, and squeezed it gently. "I'll tell you what. Tomorrow, after school, I'll take you to a very special place, where only very special boys like you are allowed. We'll do something fun together, just you and me." He smiled, and then added. "But don't tell anyone, not even your parents. It'll be our secret."

When the boy smiled back, Michael patted his thigh.

"Now go on," he said, and Keenan stood up and ran outside to join the other kids. 

Michael took his time cleaning his desk, his heart racing. It was wrong, he knew it, but at the same time it felt so very right. His hands were shaking and there was a feeling in his chest, like something wanting to burst out when he thought about the boy. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had to be patient. Gentle. It's what Keenan deserved. 

He picked up his bag and turned to leave, but the doorway was blocked by a man Michael had never seen before.

"You are a hard man to find, Michael," the man said. He was dressed in a light grey suit and was holding one of the floral-pattern teacups from the teachers' lounge. 

"Six schools and four states in ten years," he continued. "All that moving around must be quite stressful."

Michael frowned. "Are you the new substitute for Mrs. Curtis?"

The man gave Michael a pleasant smile. For a while he said nothing, just kept stirring his tea, the spoon making a rhythmic clinking sound against the rim of the cup. The noise was irritating, but Michael found that he couldn't stop listening to it, his eyes drawn to the movement of the spoon.

"How long have you been a teacher, Michael? Twenty-five years? Thirty? That's a lot of children." 

_Clink, clink, clink,_ the spoon kept moving in a circle. Michael knew he should tell the man to leave, but for some reason he didn't seem to be able to get a word out.

"We have a common acquaintance, it would seem. A friend of mine, you taught him at school. Wayne Rigsby. He would have been a quiet kid, taller than his peers, but careful of his strength. A kind soul, but easily lead into mischief. It was easy for you to win his confidence. An absent father, a distant mother - you were the first adult to treat him with respect." For a second the spoon faltered, before resuming its rhythm. "He never told anyone."

Michael could feel himself relax, his heartbeat slowing down to match the steady sound of the spoon. In some distant corner of his mind he was aware just how strange the situation was, but those thoughts were irrelevant and he ignored them. The only thing that mattered was the man's voice.

"Every time you start in a new school, you decide that this time you'll be strong. But the children, they need you, they want you. It's like it's in your blood."

The spoon finally came to a halt. Michael looked up from the cup and met the man's eyes.

"Don't you think it was time for you to just let it all out?" The man said, and then smiled, setting the cup down on one of the desks. "Thank you for the tea, Michael."

Michael remained frozen in place long after the man had left the room. It all seemed unreal, and if it wasn't for the floral patterned teacup on the desk, he might have thought that he had imagined the whole encounter. 

He shook his head to clear it, and went to the window, pulling the curtain aside to look outside. There were still few kids playing in the school yard, kicking a ball around while they waited for their parents. After a moment they grey-suited man appeared from the doorway. He said something to one of the boys and then sat down on the wooden bench to watch the children play. Parents came to pick up their children until even the last kid has left, leaving the yard empty. 

Once alone, the man stood up and crossed the yard without looking back. There was an old silver Citroen parked on the street next to the gate, and he climbed into it.

When the car disappeared behind the corner, Michael finally let the curtains fall close. He had been meaning to go home, but there was something he knew he had to do first. He walked to the supply closet and unlocked the top cabinet, taking out the box of X-acto knives.

"Let it all out," he whispered, and then, with his mind completely blank, he picked one of the knives and pressed the blade to his wrist.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Grooming and implied child abuse, forced suicide.


End file.
